What Will Never Be
by Luna the sheikah
Summary: .Grilo. "A handful of credits clinked with the key and with a small smile, she was gone. The dealer leaned back into the pillows, staring at the rusted old key and the plastic discs. Moments like these made him wonder who was the one being used here."


The most notorious zydrate peddler on the entire island was currently sprawled on rumpled motel sheets, watching a pale slip of a girl rush about the cheap room. She tugged on a pair of black stockings and smoothed out the wrinkles in her white dress.

"Leaving already?" He drawled, half dressed but too lazy to really finish the job. He didn't have to deal for a while yet and planned to nap until check out.

"Some of us have work you know." Shilo returned, sliding past him into the dimly lit bathroom to brush her teeth.

"And I don't?"

Shilo laughed and peeked out, the green handle poking out from between her lips. "I mean one that _isn't_ illegal." She finished and wiped any remaining foam from her mouth. "Not that this isn't fun or anything, but I have a day job."

He snorted. As if doing the day shift of a convenience store was so hard. She tossed his jacket at him and he blocked it.

"Next time, you pay for the hotel room."

"Or we could just go to your house."

Shilo stilled and he knew he should feel guilty for bringing it up. But he didn't really, the house was the one thing that made all that confidence and humor leave, showing her for what she was. A frightened little orphan who was doing everything possible to stay afloat, her dark eyes did their best to mask the shadows but her disguise wasn't a well crafted one. It would take her a few years before that little mask she wore became harder to see behind, she hadn't had enough experience yet.

"I don't-I don't want to go back there." She was looking at him, those doe eyes of hers begging for something to take the memory away. And every time Graverobber would only shake his head. If she wanted zydrate, she could go to someone else to get it. But she never asked anyone else and so they were forever stuck at an impasse.

"A-anyway, I…I'll see you later." She was all set and ready to go out and be a part of the large capitalist machine. He sat up as she walked over and kissed his forehead. "Oh!" She rummaged around her pockets and gave him the second key. "Here. Since you'll be here for checkout and not me." A handful of credits clinked with the key and with a small smile, she was gone.

The dealer leaned back into the pillows, staring at the rusted old key and the plastic discs. Moments like these made him wonder who was the one being used here.

-

"Please, I can…I can pay with something else!" The girl couldn't have been older than fifteen, trying to make a seductive expression but the effect was lost by her thick mascara and the dark lines running down her cheeks from her desperate tears.

"Sorry kid, you got your first hit ages ago. Pay or get out."

"But Graverobber!" She whined and it grated on his nerves, he pushed her roughly to the ground and turned to another addict. This guy was just as desperate but he had money.

The man fell to the ground in bliss and he smirked, the credits clenched in his palm. He felt a tug on his sleeve and turned, lips curved into a sneer to dissuade the teenage wreck to stop bothering him.

She eeped and he glared at her. "If you're so desperate to put out for Z, at least put out for money to fucking pay me." The girl shuddered and clambered away, the heels that were too tall for a womanchild like her to wear causing her trip and stumble.

Graverobber rolled his eyes, they got younger and younger every day.

-

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Ms. 9-5?" Graverobber asked, greeting the young girl that was leaning against his usual dumpster.

She shook her head. "It was my day off." She shifted a little, tugging at the sleeve of her shirt. "I've been thinking…"

"Well, that's dangerous." He replied, now sitting atop his dumpster and counting the credits he had accumulated that evening. His smirk turned into a playful grin as she smacked his knee in false outrage.

"I'm serious!"

"Of course you are." Hm, enough to buy a new gun if he could find that gentern…"So, what were you thinkin' about kid?"

"Leaving." When this didn't illicit a reaction, she continued. "I mean, leaving this city."

He paused his counting and raised a brow at her. "And going where?"

"I don't know…" She sighed and lifted herself up to sit beside him. A pile of credits separated them and she leaned back on her palms, staring at the would be starry sky. "Somewhere that's not here."

Silence reigned between them and he slid his haul back into his coat pocket. "When you thinking of going?"

"Soon. I've been meaning to leave ever since-" Her breath caught and he watched her wince out of the corner of his eyes. Poor little porcelain doll, the glue she used never did piece her back together right.

"Since the opera." Graverobber finished for her and she exhaled, nodding and refusing to meet his eyes.

"I got the job so I could save up, get a bus ticket and just leave. There has to be something beside all this, don't you think?" Shilo looked up, the hope in her eyes chasing out the shadows he normally saw.

"Maybe." He responded, not wanting to shatter what little hope she had left. He didn't think anywhere else was much better. But then, he had a good thing going. He knew the GeneCops routines in all his regular harvesting spots, had a regular clientele and some were hot enough to pay with flesh instead of credits. For all purposes it wasn't safe or normal and he'd probably die before he hit forty, but he had never expected to live long anyway.

"I, um…" She bit her bottom lip in that way that always caught his attention. "I promise to let you know when I'm leaving before I go, okay?" She looked guilty and he tried not to laugh. Cute, trying to not hurt his feelings.

"You don't need my permission to go anywhere kid. You're free remember?" She winced again and he sighed through his nose, watching a few zydrate addicts slink by in their haze.

They both quieted again, watching the crowds of desperation and scars fumble past in their effort to live. Growing bored, he laid down on his back and blinked when Shilo suddenly broke the silence.

"Graverobber?"

"Mm?"

"We've known each other for um...a while right?"

"I guess." He counted in his head. About six months if his math was right, six months since the opera, five months and two weeks since finding a Miss Shilo Wallace shuddering in her mother's tomb. He'd taken pity on her and bought her dinner. They'd met up periodically ever since, generally for a lay. Apparently since he wouldn't give her zydrate, fucking him would be just as good of a distraction. And who was he to say no? He made people forget for a living, who he to deny the one person in the city that needed it most?

"So what are we then?" Her question cut his musing in his tracks and he looked up at her alarmed. Oh shit, here it came. _Let's move in together. I'm pregnant. I love you._ All a matter of seconds until she dropped some bomb on him in the attempt to make them boyfriend and girlfriend or steady or some shit.

"What do you mean?" He ventured, sitting up and preparing to bolt. _I live alone. I'll pay for the abortion or fuck, I guess the support if you keep it. Sorry kid, feeling isn't mutual._

"I mean, what is this?" She gestured between them and looked over. His anxiety cleared as soon as he met her eyes. She was just asking, no adoration in her eyes or desperation, no pout to her lips or flush of fear from rejection. A simple question that needed as a simple answer.

Too bad he couldn't figure out one to give her.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

-

Something was up, Graverobber could feel it. He hadn't seen Shilo since that evening on the dumpster and that had been a whole three weeks ago. Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he pushed himself off the dumpster and decided to investigate. First order of business, The Wallace house.

She'd never really invited him in, always coming to him and making their way to the nearest hotel. He knew she lived here but only because her meager earnings didn't allow her to live anywhere else. Her father had written a will that left everything to her. At least he was smart enough to know that he was just as mortal as the people he killed on a nightly basis.

Graverobber pushed open the Wallace tomb door and peered inside. Nothing unusual here, just two tombs instead of one. He nodded his head at the lady of the house but made no acknowledgment of the man. Even Graverobber had standards, lowly though they be, and fraternizing with dead repomen was one thing he refused to do.

He knew his way inside, he'd stolen Marni's body so entering through the secret passage was a cinch. What he didn't expect was the crunch of his boot on paper, real paper, not that plastic shit that had replaced it once most of the trees had died.

Leaning down, he picked it up and saw in rather elegant cursive, his name. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

_Sorry. I couldn't wait anymore. You can have whatever you want, I'm sure there's something around here you could sell. I'm not sure where I'm going, I'm making the choice when I buy the ticket. Thank you for being-_

A few words were crossed out at this point, deciding what he was to her.

_A friend. Be careful and please be more quiet when you harvest, I don't want to see your face in the obituaries._

_Shilo_

He read it over a few more times, bemused that she was worried about his wellbeing and not her own. If anything, he was more worried about seeing her in the obituaries. But she had survived the Largos and her blood disease, so whose to say she wouldn't survive this?

The man wandered about the lush carpets and wood floors, scanning over the silver and the china, the rich upholstered chairs. His journey took him up the stairs and to the door of what used to be Shilo's bedroom. He frowned and kicked the door open, nearly knocking the elderly piece of wood off it's hinges.

The room was pink and there was bugs all over, dead of course and pinned to boards. Books on the shelves and posters of a blind woman that was long dead.

"So much for letting me know ahead of time, huh kid?" He mused to himself, chuckling a little and digging through his pockets. His fingers slid over the cool glass of a jar and tugged it out. The yellow butterfly inside had long died, three weeks much too long to stay in a prison with no air or food.

Unscrewing the top, he dumped it onto him palm and stared. It was still as bright as ever, forever stuck in a position of waiting to fly. Black lips pulling back into a scowl, he clenched his fist and crushed the tiny corpse, wiping its guts off on the peeling floral wallpaper as he left.


End file.
